The Gun
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Ilsa's got a gun? Yes, Loves, Chance is shirtless! Enjoy, Ladies!


"What's that?"

He could handle Ilsa having a lot of things but if _that _is what he thought it was, then it was time for a long chat with the British billionaire. He knew that Ilsa was perfectly capable of pulling the trigger but that isn't what posed the problem, what the problem was, was the fact was that she had went and bought one without him. The sleek silver gun was small enough for her to hold it comfortably and not have a terrible amount of kick but he also knew that she tended to be a bit reckless with certain things, especially when things were capable of such power.

"A gun." Ilsa told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm aware it's a gun, please tell me that it isn't your gun?" Chance growled.

"And if it is?" Ilsa asked innocently.

Chance shrugged it off and fumbled for an answer that wasn't going to get the barrel of said gun pointed in the general direction of anything that was invaluable to his being. He was rather attached to, ahem, certain appendages and would like to keep them, that is if Ilsa didn't mind.

"You are aware that if I turn this gun just right, it would be pointed at a certain spot that would almost guarantee you a lot of pain for a long period of time?" Ilsa asked him, smirking as she tipped the gun up and down carelessly.

"I'm aware." Chance stuttered, growling angrily when he realized that she held the power in this particular situation.

"So, if you think I can't shoot a gun, teach me? Because I'm willing to bet I can prove you wrong." Ilsa taunted him, slipping her finger through the hole where the trigger was and letting it dangle precariously. "I bet I know more than you think I do."

"I have no choice do I?" Chance growled, as he reached out, grabbed the barrel and yanked the gun away from her.

"Well let me put it to you this way, you either show me how to do it or let it go." Ilsa told him, "Your choice? Or I could shoot certain appendages now and save myself a lot of pain."

"I'll be back in five minutes, wait here." Chance growled as he turned the safety on and set the gun on the desk. "Do not touch the gun."

Her eyes held a wicked gleam as she watched him walk out of her office and up the stairs. It was so undeniably and often times deliciously easy to manipulate him into doing something. Sometimes all it took was a little play on words or the right shirt to get him to give in. Or a gun. That seemed to work like a dream.

xxx

"That woman is going to be the absolute death of me."

He growled and grumbled as he shoved his arms into the sleeves of a clean t-shirt and pulled it over his head. Ilsa Pucci was going to be the death of him and he knew it wouldn't be long either. The woman was one of two things, subtle and innocent or bold and not as innocent as his first perception of her had made her seem. Perception of a person was a matter of being able to read that person, and according to Guerrero, he couldn't read women so his perception had probably been way off.

He really didn't care about that now though, all he knew was that the woman had a gun and if the way she had pointed it was any indication, she would have absolutely no trouble in using it to embed certain appendages with a chunk of lead.

"Let's go." He called storming back into her office, "You better be right otherwise that gun is going in my safe."

Ilsa laughed as she grabbed the gun from her desk and slipped it into her purse, "Oh I'm right Mr. Chance, but can you handle it?"

He growled as she walked out in front of him and he was left with no choice but to follow her. She was determined to prove to him that she could shoot a gun and she was Ilsa Pucci, so she could probably do it too. The elevator was spent in silence, with Chance's eyes never leaving Ilsa's purse.

"Chance, you don't have x-ray vision." Ilsa smirked as the elevator doors opened with a soft ding and she walked out, a sassy swing to her hips.

"Oh dear God!" Chance grumbled as he followed her out, unable to tear his eyes away from her hips.

The ten minute ride to the gun range was spent in relative silence except for the unmentionable expletive that Chance spat when Ilsa pulled the gun from her purse and examined with amused brown eyes. When they reached the gun range, she was almost bubbling over with barely contained laughter at Chance's stone-faced expression and bear-like snarl.

"Oh quit snarling like a bear," Ilsa laughed as they walked over to the booth that they had been assigned.

She looked different today. In a pair of safety goggles, ear-plugs and holding a gun. She looked like a fragile yet strong woman all at the same time. She looked like the walking contradiction that he had always thought she was. He watched as she held the gun in the proper position in one hand and cradled it with her other hand. She pulled her shoulders back, spread her legs a little bit and took a deep breath before pulling the trigger. She did this until the clip was empty before setting the gun down and pressing a button to retrieve the paper target.

"Look for yourself." Ilsa smirked, yanking the paper target from the clip and shoving it in his hand.

He was surprised to find that most of the shots were in the center of the target and the few that weren't in the center were only a mere three inches outside of the bulls-eye.

Well, crap!

She had been right. The woman was almost a crack-shot.

"Let's go." Chance growled as he stormed out to the car.

That had been more than enough to bruise his ego to the point that he refused to look at her or say a single word during the ride back to the office. As soon as they got back, he mumbled something about going for a jog and took off down the street.

xxx

When he came back nearly an hour later, he was sweaty and exhausted but it looked as if he was in a better mood. His shirt was drenched with sweat, his cheeks were flushed a dark red with exertion and the casual grin that she was used too had returned. She watched through the glass as he jogged through the lobby and over to her office. He tapped the door-frame with his knuckles and smiled at her when she looked up at him.

"If you think for even a moment that I'm going to kiss you, think again, Mr. Chance." Ilsa corrected him, typing something on her computer. "Go shower, I can smell you from here."

Chance pouted like a little boy but went upstairs to shower nonetheless. After a cool shower, he dressed in his usual jeans and raked a hand through his damp hair. Without a second glance at the black wife-beater sitting on the sink, he jogged out of his bathroom and back down the stairs.

"Better?" Chance grinned, appearing in the doorway of her office.

Ilsa looked up at him- -and almost audibly gulped at the sight that met her eyes. A shirtless, still slightly damp Chance, who looked like a sexy hunk of deliciousness, standing in her door-way, was something Ilsa was pretty sure she could get used to.

"I could get used to that." Ilsa grinned as she stood up and walked around her desk.

"Ilsa," Chance's grin faded as he reached out and grabbed her hips, pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry for being a jerk about you having a gun."

"I didn't help when I pointed it at that certain appendage that you're attached too." Ilsa grinned, flushing a dark scarlet which suit her naturally olive skin-tone.

Chance raked his eyes over her heated, flushed face and then met her soft, chocolate eyes once more as he said, "Ilsa, the reason I was so against you having a gun is because if you have a gun, then what do you need me for? You can protect yourself now."

"No, that gun isn't for protection." Ilsa shook her head, staring up into his gorgeous ocean-water eyes. "Shooting used to be a hobby of mine."

"A hobby?" Chance questioned doubtfully.

"Yes. See when me and Marshall started the foundation, we would fight constantly. I needed to do something before I killed him so my Connie's husband taught me how to shoot a gun and it became a way for me to kill Marshall without him actually dying." Ilsa laughed, "Even if it was for protection, I'd still need you around. I can't do everything without you, Chance."

"I don't want you to do everything without me, Ilsa." Chance whispered as he leaned down, his lips barely brushing hers. "I want you around."

"I want you around too." Ilsa whispered against his mouth.

"Shh." He whispered as he finally pressed his lips against hers.

His hands tangled her in black curls and her hands found his damp blonde hair as their lips fused together. He spun them around and pinned her to the glass wall, untangling his hands from her hair before sliding them down her sides and over her hips. His touch was surprisingly tender, despite the roughness of the kiss and the calluses on his hands.

"I'll buy another gun if this can happen more often." Ilsa grinned when they pulled back.

"You buy another gun and we'll never breath again." Chance grinned against her mouth.

He caught her lips again and drew her into a long, rough kiss that would leave them both breathless for a while. She grinned as she tugged his hair and almost immediately he was groaning into her mouth. His deep, gravelly groan only added to his sex appeal.

Oh my!

This man was going to be the end of her but god what a way to go!

She really should have bought that gun a whole hell of a lot sooner.

* * *

><p><strong>Hot! Hot! Hot! For the love of all that is holy and good in this world, Mark, why are you so freaking' hot? Good God, Man! Anyway, niagaraweasel, this one is for you! I'm really sorry you had a bad week but I sincerely hope that this hot hunk of deliciousness made it better- and no I'm not talking about the story either :) Let's just say, I wouldn't mind having a piece of him after a really bad day! Anyway, dear, hope you enjoy :) <strong>

**Love you Dolls, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


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